SC has his first A level exam (of sorts, it's a physics practical) today. As a concerned parent (far more nervous than he appears to be) I want to help in every way possible. Though his school is older, he doesn't go to one of those privileged establishments where rumour has it a certain amount of clandestine assistance is given to candidates, thus help here in large part means giving him a good breakfast.
So what is a good exam breakfast? Thinking it through I failed to come up with anything terribly revolutionary, but then most nutritional thought in the end seems to come down to common sense. He will benefit from slow release carbs, to give energy through a good part of the day, so a couple of slices of wholemeal bread (he isn't keen on toast). Protein with that to slow the digestion of the starch into sugar, spreading the energy longer (the exam late in the school day), so some low fat ham with his bread (and scrape of butter). Such protein is supposed to be good for concentration too. I sneaked some fish into yesterday's mezze for a similar reason, and because as a true believer in Wodehouse I hope that what Bertie felt made Jeeves so brainy will work on SC.
Fresh fruit and veg seems to help our moods, the vitamins perhaps giving us a boost, so a fruit platter - orange, apple, peach, blueberries - shared between us, and some cloudy apple juice to wash everything down. To finish a zero fat vanilla yoghurt not for any real scientific reason, but because it tastes like ice cream and makes one happy (longer term of course it's good for his bones, but the danger of osteoporosis is a few decades off for him yet).
In the end however balanced such a start may be, when the papers are opened it's down to other factors. But when the course of someone's life can vary because of just a single mark tipping them up or down a grade, you want to give them every chance.
Monday 28 April 2014
Wednesday 23 April 2014
Buying Memories
Whether it's something to do with a growing realisation that ones time on this earth is not unlimited, or the remnants of a sense of adventure I know not, but I do like to take culinary opportunities to buy memories. For those with deeper pockets than mine (though happily they remain far from empty) such memories may include meals cooked by major chefs with major egos and international profiles. I'm happier to settle for simpler things.
One such last year was what felt like an investment in three T-bone steaks that were barbecued to perfection and gnawed until nothing of their fleshy deliciousness remained. The cost was more than £30, if memory serves, but I'm certain that it will be the yardstick against which any future T-bone indulgence is measured by our small son (a mere 6' 2.5").
On our break in Norfolk last week another such - though far cheaper - chance arose. Driving back from Potter Heigham we spotted a fisherman selling freshly boiled Cromer crabs from a trailer parked in a lay-by. Noting exotic about any of that, clearly. And why should it need to be exotic? What was marvellous was that we got to eat a whole superbly fresh crab each (the vendor removed the dead-man's fingers as we waited), the cost for the three just over £8. I guess that doesn't qualify as austerity cooking on two levels - no cooking involved, and £8 could pay for several meals if you tried.
There is something extraordinarily satisfying about eating a crab as they should be: cracking the legs and claws, poking the innumerable cavities to get the last bits of meat. That is perhaps austerity thinking in a way.
A crab and a couple of slices of brown bread and butter each were the sole components of our lunch once we had returned to my father's house (he'd lunched already and anyway hates all seafood). It needed no wine, no sauce, no cooking beyond the boiling done that morning. The taste made me happy, and so too did the way we all tackled the task. It took several soapings to get rid of the crabby scent, all adding to the memory.
One such last year was what felt like an investment in three T-bone steaks that were barbecued to perfection and gnawed until nothing of their fleshy deliciousness remained. The cost was more than £30, if memory serves, but I'm certain that it will be the yardstick against which any future T-bone indulgence is measured by our small son (a mere 6' 2.5").
On our break in Norfolk last week another such - though far cheaper - chance arose. Driving back from Potter Heigham we spotted a fisherman selling freshly boiled Cromer crabs from a trailer parked in a lay-by. Noting exotic about any of that, clearly. And why should it need to be exotic? What was marvellous was that we got to eat a whole superbly fresh crab each (the vendor removed the dead-man's fingers as we waited), the cost for the three just over £8. I guess that doesn't qualify as austerity cooking on two levels - no cooking involved, and £8 could pay for several meals if you tried.
There is something extraordinarily satisfying about eating a crab as they should be: cracking the legs and claws, poking the innumerable cavities to get the last bits of meat. That is perhaps austerity thinking in a way.
A crab and a couple of slices of brown bread and butter each were the sole components of our lunch once we had returned to my father's house (he'd lunched already and anyway hates all seafood). It needed no wine, no sauce, no cooking beyond the boiling done that morning. The taste made me happy, and so too did the way we all tackled the task. It took several soapings to get rid of the crabby scent, all adding to the memory.
Tuesday 15 April 2014
Better Bread Better for Us
The healthy eating programme has pushed me into even more bread making than usual, partly as the wholemeal offerings at the supermarkets are less than tasty, partly as it saves me going back for another loaf and ending up spending £20 on other stuff.
Yesterday's rolls were so good that even SC complimented them. They were not in truth wholemeal, as my 100 per cent wholemeal attempts have yielded somewhat dense results. Tasty but dense. Think any number of celebrities.
Reading about healthy eating has convinced me we need to eat more seeds, so armed with flaxseeds from Holland and B and sunflower seeds from Booth's I mixed dough per the following recipe:
1 cup s/s milk
0.25 cup lukewarm water
1 beaten egg
1 tbsp avocado oil
1 tbsp walnut oil
0.5 tsp salt
1.5tbsp sugar
0.25 cup seeds (mainly linseed)
0.75 cup wholemeal flour with seeds
1 cup wholemeal spelt flour
2 cups unbleached white flour
7g dried yeast sachet
Mixed and raised in the bread-maker, then knocked back, formed into rolls and left on a floured baking sheet in a warm place to rise for two hours they more than doubled in size before being put in a cold oven turned on to 200C and left to bake for about 25 minutes.
The results are soft crumbed, really tasty (in spite of the reduced salt), and satisfyingly bitty with seeds throughout. A perfect breakfast roll with coffee.
Using flaxseed reminded me of something from my childhood. The grandfather of my best mate of those days, at whose house in the depths of Norfolk I was sometimes invited to stay, used to take a teaspoonful of linseed oil (aka flaxseed oil) every evening. I can remember thinking this odd, and mentioning it to my parents who said something rather deprecatory about old country remedies. We now know linseeds are packed with antioxidants and Omega-3. Not for the first time we find that such remedies had real benefits. But I won't be following my Gran's advice and putting a clove of garlic in my sock the next time I get a cold.
Yesterday's rolls were so good that even SC complimented them. They were not in truth wholemeal, as my 100 per cent wholemeal attempts have yielded somewhat dense results. Tasty but dense. Think any number of celebrities.
Reading about healthy eating has convinced me we need to eat more seeds, so armed with flaxseeds from Holland and B and sunflower seeds from Booth's I mixed dough per the following recipe:
1 cup s/s milk
0.25 cup lukewarm water
1 beaten egg
1 tbsp avocado oil
1 tbsp walnut oil
0.5 tsp salt
1.5tbsp sugar
0.25 cup seeds (mainly linseed)
0.75 cup wholemeal flour with seeds
1 cup wholemeal spelt flour
2 cups unbleached white flour
7g dried yeast sachet
Mixed and raised in the bread-maker, then knocked back, formed into rolls and left on a floured baking sheet in a warm place to rise for two hours they more than doubled in size before being put in a cold oven turned on to 200C and left to bake for about 25 minutes.
The results are soft crumbed, really tasty (in spite of the reduced salt), and satisfyingly bitty with seeds throughout. A perfect breakfast roll with coffee.
Using flaxseed reminded me of something from my childhood. The grandfather of my best mate of those days, at whose house in the depths of Norfolk I was sometimes invited to stay, used to take a teaspoonful of linseed oil (aka flaxseed oil) every evening. I can remember thinking this odd, and mentioning it to my parents who said something rather deprecatory about old country remedies. We now know linseeds are packed with antioxidants and Omega-3. Not for the first time we find that such remedies had real benefits. But I won't be following my Gran's advice and putting a clove of garlic in my sock the next time I get a cold.
Sunday 13 April 2014
Today's Food Bargain - Yesterday's Status Symbol
I invested £1 in a small pineapple at Sainsbury's more than a week ago. In the 18th century the wealthiest of the wealthy in this country actually rented out pineapples to the merely exceptionally well off, according to one account I heard raking in the equivalent in today's money of £6000 for doing so - the fruits forming the centrepieces of grand banquets before being returned to the ultra-grandees who were the only ones who got to taste the things then.
Pineapples were of course extremely scarce in England at that time - they could not be imported, as picked anywhere near ready they would rot long before any sailing ship made it to our shores. So they had to be grown in our temperate if frequently bloody miserable climate, requiring special skills, loads of labour, and a massive capital investment.
A fortnight ago I visited Tatton Park and went round the pinery there, rebuilt in 2007 on the footings of the mid-18th century original, and with the benefit of the architect Wyatt's plans. As anyone who has more than just dipped into this blog will know, I like growing stuff to eat - not really bothered with flowers (even the edible ones are not up to much). But I would take a lot of persuading to give pineapple growing a go.
The glasshouse is kept between 70 and 80 Fahrenheit, and with high humidity, both provided in part by rotting oak leaves, though hot-water pipes and steam blowers are used too. A lot of money on heating then, to produce about 300 fruits a year (cleverly spaced out over the months, not in one glut), but I salute the National Trust for reviving the art - rebuilding the pinery cost I believe £600,000.
My £1 bought a fruit that per the supermarket label would need eating before April 8th. We ate it last night, the 12th, when finally a leaf from the crown came away with a very sharp tug, the way to tell if it is ready for the plate. You can do clever things with peeling the bumpy exterior (two interlocking helices of eight and 13 bumps - nature is as they say wonderful, and the fact that those two numbers are part of the Fibonacci Sequence is intriguing if you like that sort of thing), but it is far easier just to saw off the skin, top and tail, then cut and core slices.
SC hates pineapple, so the Dear Leader and I got half each. What pudding could you possibly get that is so delicious for just 50p each? Don't say tinned pineapple, though that is pleasant in its way: there is a world of texture and taste between them.
Pineapples were of course extremely scarce in England at that time - they could not be imported, as picked anywhere near ready they would rot long before any sailing ship made it to our shores. So they had to be grown in our temperate if frequently bloody miserable climate, requiring special skills, loads of labour, and a massive capital investment.
A fortnight ago I visited Tatton Park and went round the pinery there, rebuilt in 2007 on the footings of the mid-18th century original, and with the benefit of the architect Wyatt's plans. As anyone who has more than just dipped into this blog will know, I like growing stuff to eat - not really bothered with flowers (even the edible ones are not up to much). But I would take a lot of persuading to give pineapple growing a go.
The glasshouse is kept between 70 and 80 Fahrenheit, and with high humidity, both provided in part by rotting oak leaves, though hot-water pipes and steam blowers are used too. A lot of money on heating then, to produce about 300 fruits a year (cleverly spaced out over the months, not in one glut), but I salute the National Trust for reviving the art - rebuilding the pinery cost I believe £600,000.
My £1 bought a fruit that per the supermarket label would need eating before April 8th. We ate it last night, the 12th, when finally a leaf from the crown came away with a very sharp tug, the way to tell if it is ready for the plate. You can do clever things with peeling the bumpy exterior (two interlocking helices of eight and 13 bumps - nature is as they say wonderful, and the fact that those two numbers are part of the Fibonacci Sequence is intriguing if you like that sort of thing), but it is far easier just to saw off the skin, top and tail, then cut and core slices.
SC hates pineapple, so the Dear Leader and I got half each. What pudding could you possibly get that is so delicious for just 50p each? Don't say tinned pineapple, though that is pleasant in its way: there is a world of texture and taste between them.
Thursday 10 April 2014
Savour Every Morsel - Upside to Imposed Austerity
In the post Upside to Austerity back in December 2011 I wrote about how tougher times could prove to be a plus in culinary terms if we were pushed into valuing our food more. We had in times of more than plenty overindulged, and I felt that had made us blase (still can't do accents on this system) about what we ate. I'm feeling a similar thing on our alternative eating programme (and still refusing to use the D-word).
Not that we have been going hungry, or decided to live on crispbread and gravel. But taking into account each part of a meal in terms of its nutritional elements makes one value, say, mushrooms as a source of chromium (and they are far more delicious than car trim); or the multiple virtues of green leaves.
As second and third portions are perhaps what led to us needing to stick to the AEP for a while I'm being careful with quantities in my cooking. If you have one plateful you tend to make it last longer, and to savour what you have. So this just may be imposed austerity.
There are upsides to this version too. Considering our regime more closely has led to some interesting new finds. Black rice is probably top of that list: not an austerity item as a small box cost £2.50, though that will do the carbs for three of us for at least three meals. It's actually more purple than black, that colour showing it has the same antioxidants as blueberries, blackberries etc. The gourmet benefit is that it has a fine flavour, far more interesting than plain white long-grain. The AEP benefit is that it has a lower GI rating than said white rice. I'm guessing the Emperors and tyrants who 1000 years ago kept it all for themselves (or is that marketing tosh?) were more interested in how it tastes.
One definite austerity aspect to the so-called programme is that we are eating vast amounts of fruit, so I can't remember having to throw away a single soft apple, or any rotting oranges found at the bottom of the fruit bowl (a fruit bowl rather than the fruit bowl to be more accurate) for weeks. Another is that my bread-making has been to the fore, to ring the changes with plain supermarket wholemeal. It is possible to buy a loaf for less than one of my homemade efforts costs, but the cheapo bought version would be pasty and flabby and rubbery, the admittedly less than perfectly symmetrical loaves I turn out have become lighter and tastier as I've gained experience.
Not that we have been going hungry, or decided to live on crispbread and gravel. But taking into account each part of a meal in terms of its nutritional elements makes one value, say, mushrooms as a source of chromium (and they are far more delicious than car trim); or the multiple virtues of green leaves.
As second and third portions are perhaps what led to us needing to stick to the AEP for a while I'm being careful with quantities in my cooking. If you have one plateful you tend to make it last longer, and to savour what you have. So this just may be imposed austerity.
There are upsides to this version too. Considering our regime more closely has led to some interesting new finds. Black rice is probably top of that list: not an austerity item as a small box cost £2.50, though that will do the carbs for three of us for at least three meals. It's actually more purple than black, that colour showing it has the same antioxidants as blueberries, blackberries etc. The gourmet benefit is that it has a fine flavour, far more interesting than plain white long-grain. The AEP benefit is that it has a lower GI rating than said white rice. I'm guessing the Emperors and tyrants who 1000 years ago kept it all for themselves (or is that marketing tosh?) were more interested in how it tastes.
One definite austerity aspect to the so-called programme is that we are eating vast amounts of fruit, so I can't remember having to throw away a single soft apple, or any rotting oranges found at the bottom of the fruit bowl (a fruit bowl rather than the fruit bowl to be more accurate) for weeks. Another is that my bread-making has been to the fore, to ring the changes with plain supermarket wholemeal. It is possible to buy a loaf for less than one of my homemade efforts costs, but the cheapo bought version would be pasty and flabby and rubbery, the admittedly less than perfectly symmetrical loaves I turn out have become lighter and tastier as I've gained experience.
Monday 7 April 2014
Several of Your 103 a Day
We love our fruit and veg in this household. I'd rather eat a mixed salad than a plate of chips, especially if they are the soggy ones that chip shops now seem to specialise in (what used to be a treat at the Norfolk seaside has become something to avoid of late).
It's just as well we like them, as our alternative eating programme (SC and I have both lost 9lb or so) majors on F&V. Even we would struggle under normal circs, however, to get to what one fears is rapidly heading towards a dietary requirement of 103 portions a day. It was scary, btw, to hear during the recent spate of stories about such intakes that many Brits, and not just the economically challenged, don't manage a single portion in their normal daily routine.
Yesterday's pudding stood us in good stead for some sort of campaign medal. As we were eating lamb (slow roast in a raised rack to let the fat drip out) as main I made a fruit salad for pud. Not something I do often, as childhood memories of tinned versions - nasty plasticky cherries and all - served up at school and on occasion at home have left a scar. This was all fresh - half a tray of blueberries that needed using up, ditto strawbs, some oranges and satsumas, grapes, apples... all in orange juice not the vile syrup that accompanied 1970s versions. It was so good we ended up drinking the remaining juice.
When you do the sums that treat - for such it was - cost I think less than a carton of the beloved Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. Say 90p for the blueberries, same for the strawbs, £1.30 for the citrus, 25p for the apple and 20p the grapes, then 30p the juice. So £3.85 for something really delicious that also made us feel a teensy bit virtuous. Or smug.
I have no intention of posting a video online, leaving the beneficial effects on ones digestion this morning to the imagination. And stating that we have no need of colonic irrigation here thanks very much. Too subtle?
It's just as well we like them, as our alternative eating programme (SC and I have both lost 9lb or so) majors on F&V. Even we would struggle under normal circs, however, to get to what one fears is rapidly heading towards a dietary requirement of 103 portions a day. It was scary, btw, to hear during the recent spate of stories about such intakes that many Brits, and not just the economically challenged, don't manage a single portion in their normal daily routine.
Yesterday's pudding stood us in good stead for some sort of campaign medal. As we were eating lamb (slow roast in a raised rack to let the fat drip out) as main I made a fruit salad for pud. Not something I do often, as childhood memories of tinned versions - nasty plasticky cherries and all - served up at school and on occasion at home have left a scar. This was all fresh - half a tray of blueberries that needed using up, ditto strawbs, some oranges and satsumas, grapes, apples... all in orange juice not the vile syrup that accompanied 1970s versions. It was so good we ended up drinking the remaining juice.
When you do the sums that treat - for such it was - cost I think less than a carton of the beloved Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. Say 90p for the blueberries, same for the strawbs, £1.30 for the citrus, 25p for the apple and 20p the grapes, then 30p the juice. So £3.85 for something really delicious that also made us feel a teensy bit virtuous. Or smug.
I have no intention of posting a video online, leaving the beneficial effects on ones digestion this morning to the imagination. And stating that we have no need of colonic irrigation here thanks very much. Too subtle?
Thursday 3 April 2014
Austerity and Healthy Food
Over recent years one of the regular excuses voiced about poor eating habits is that healthy food costs more than unhealthy. Since we decided on our alternative eating programme [yes there is a deliberate hint of silliness in the name] I have made one major discovery in that regard: by spreading butter thinly, and almost banning it from cooking, one uses less and thus spends less. Who knew?
Same applies to oils and dressings. I think a general rule can be discerned here: if you use thus buy less of something, it is cheaper than buying and using lots.
As we are eating less meat and more veg, the sums are in our economic favour there too.
Last night's meal was pork tenderloin marinated in ginger, cumin, pepper and cassia bark all ground up, the six little slices (£3.15 for the piece) popped in a sealable bag with that mix and some scrunched up bay leaves and lime leaves from our own trees, then left in the fridge for about seven hours before being beaten with a mallet and griddled. Result: loads of flavour to make up for the relatively small amount. It was as the divine HFW says 'meat as spice.'
What was more important to the meal was the brown rice (I used to hate it, but this stuff is almost perfumed - and I swear it used to be browner, but then Wagon Wheels used to be bigger, and all this used to be fields too) served mixed in with a pile of lightly steamed veg - carrot, mange tout, frozen broccoli, ditto peas, ditto okra, doused in soy sauce and pepped up with five-spice. Say 35p for the rice, £1.65 for the veg and soy, so the meal for three of us £5.15. Not cheap, not dear.
I'll do the same thing without the meat next time, but adding a few mushrooms and more veg - a pepper, and definitely garlic. The substitutions would bring the cost down to about £3. Which to fill three stomachs healthily (three people rather than one ruminant - or do they have four?) seems like a bargain.
Same applies to oils and dressings. I think a general rule can be discerned here: if you use thus buy less of something, it is cheaper than buying and using lots.
As we are eating less meat and more veg, the sums are in our economic favour there too.
Last night's meal was pork tenderloin marinated in ginger, cumin, pepper and cassia bark all ground up, the six little slices (£3.15 for the piece) popped in a sealable bag with that mix and some scrunched up bay leaves and lime leaves from our own trees, then left in the fridge for about seven hours before being beaten with a mallet and griddled. Result: loads of flavour to make up for the relatively small amount. It was as the divine HFW says 'meat as spice.'
What was more important to the meal was the brown rice (I used to hate it, but this stuff is almost perfumed - and I swear it used to be browner, but then Wagon Wheels used to be bigger, and all this used to be fields too) served mixed in with a pile of lightly steamed veg - carrot, mange tout, frozen broccoli, ditto peas, ditto okra, doused in soy sauce and pepped up with five-spice. Say 35p for the rice, £1.65 for the veg and soy, so the meal for three of us £5.15. Not cheap, not dear.
I'll do the same thing without the meat next time, but adding a few mushrooms and more veg - a pepper, and definitely garlic. The substitutions would bring the cost down to about £3. Which to fill three stomachs healthily (three people rather than one ruminant - or do they have four?) seems like a bargain.
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